No matter what, Aveline refused to die here, in this forest.
She wiped at her eyes, straightened her back, and forced herself to sit up properly.
Stones.
Theodore had once shown her how to make fire with stones. She could still remember him mentioning that only a particular kind would work, though she could not for the life of her recall where to find them now. But that did not matter.
She did not want to give up.
From a distance, Theron watched her.
He saw the tears she was trying so hard to hide, the way she kept swallowing them back as though even crying had become an inconvenience she could not afford. The sight tightened something painfully inside him.
Why aren't you coming to me, Little Hare?
Had he hurt her that badly? Did she truly hate him now?
He could not stay back any longer. Pride, anger, restraint—everything else be damned. What use was any of it if she was sitting alone in the dark, hurting in silence?
